


Colours of Pride

by fanforfanatic



Series: Destiel Drabbles [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Castiel (Supernatural) is Loved, Dean Winchester is Loved, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pride, Smut, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanforfanatic/pseuds/fanforfanatic
Summary: A drabble per colour of the Pride FlagRed is the hot pulse of alive.The hood of the Impala is hot like orange. Burning to the touch but Cas bare-butt-sits on it anyway.Yellow is the neon signs of every other motel they stay in.Green is dappled sunlight shining through the spring leaves of trees.Blue is the bleak lulls between good days.Purple is the satisfaction of a scratched itch.





	1. RED: Life

**Author's Note:**

> Drabbles inspired by the the colours of the (amended—I merged the blues) Pride Flag and, loosely, their respective meanings. (emphasis on loosely)

Red is the hot pulse of  _ alive _ . That thing that drives Dean when it’s him and a were, or a vamp, or a demon, and maybe a knife. Red is the weight of his favourite gun in his hands. It’s the whistle of a bullet he doesn’t wait to see hit its mark. He knows it will. He is already gone, the way blood recedes into a rag. 

Red is how difficult cleaning up is when there’s a thrum of  _ do _ , and  _ do _ , and  _ live _ , and  _ kill _ , nagging just under Dean’s red plaid. Just under his red-stained skin. He can scratch with red under his nails but the itch will remain.  

Red is the way he fucks Cas sometimes. Violent and demanding. Red streaks clashing against gold where fingers dig a brief home. Indents of teeth left in plump lips. Red cheeks, tinted shoulders and flushed cocks. Red is the way Cas takes it, like he is the one who is giving, here.

The flames were red, or at least that’s how Dean recalls the memories of his four year old self. Red screams, a red command, something red on Sammy’s mouth, red that rivers not from veiny eyes, but from the crack in his soul. New and hungry. Ready to grow like red.

Red is the beginning, it is the end, and in Dean’s case, it is a lot of the in between.


	2. ORANGE: Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hood of the Impala is hot like orange. Burning to the touch but Cas bare-butt-sits on it anyway.

Orange is that one summer day. It is the sun when it dips below the horizon. It is the shimmer of heat in the distance. Orange is the sorbet Cas orders. It’s in the way he licks it, tentative then eager, curious then playful. Too much like the child Dean never got to be.

Cas’ laugh is the prettiest orange. It wasn’t always, not back when it was restrained, weighed down by wings black as tar. It’s bright, now. Boisterous. Oozing orange as much as the vibrant sky. 

Orange is Dean’s orbit. Revolving around Cas like a swiveling door, unable to stray. Unwilling. Orange is every time Cas smiles at Dean, organic, unforced. More oracle than ornament, speaking a loud orange truth that does not need to be said. Not between them, not anymore.

Music is orange but Dean turns the radio off anyway to pull over on the side of a dirt road. Cas reminds him they have a home now, a shelter that they don’t rent by the night. Dean shrugs, says he needs a rest and trusts that Cas will understand what he means.

The hood of the Impala is hot like orange. Burning to the touch but Cas bare-butt-sits on it anyway. 

Cas laughs, lips stained from sorbet, while Dean fumbles with orange rubber. He asks if they’re in a rush. Dean rolls his eyes, sinks into the giddy invitation of spread legs and makes Cas moan, rich like treasure. Nothing has ever rung so right. 

A round ass lifts to meet fervent, orange-happy thrusts and Baby rattles beneath them. Hands wrap around the back of necks, dragging bodies closer, and fingers press into the orange glow of perfect skin. Cas comes first, a sweet permission for Dean’s orgasm to follow. He will always be where Dean goes.

Their start wasn’t orange, despite hellfire, but this moment is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://fanforfanatic.tumblr.com/).


	3. YELLOW: Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yellow is the neon signs of every other motel they stay in.

Yellow is the neon signs of every other motel they stay in. It’s the colour of the worn carpets, made so by decades of shoes tracking in dirt. Yellow is the light in every cramped bathroom, it is the ring shaped stains around the drain. Yellow is the nine day old bruises on Dean’s abdomen, on his right shoulder blade. It’s the dying sunflower on his ribs. Almost healed, but not quite yet. Yellow is Dean, in that sense. Never healed quite yet.

The happy _ pop _ of Cas’ knees when they bend to meet the floor is yellow. So is the tremor of his lips. Yellow is the touch of them, soft and pliable like petals, against Dean’s most recent bloom. Yellow are the words that Cas presses into Dean’s warm skin, barely intelligible, and holding more meaning than Dean is ready to hear under a yellow sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://fanforfanatic.tumblr.com/)


	4. GREEN: Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green is dappled sunlight shining through the spring leaves of trees.

Cas has learned by now that churches are no good for praying, so he trades the pretty stained glass for the grass stains on his trench. Dean puts them there, every afternoon they spend rolling around in the patch of fresh barley behind the bunker. They hide in the tall blades and pretend that their time is for them to do with as they please. In the foliage, the burden of Earth isn’t theirs to bear.

Green is that reprieve. It is how new it feels to touch each other without the need for fabricated reasons. It’s laying on their backs in dewy fields, sides plastered together like pressed flowers. It’s Cas picking a sprig of mint, the one he likes best, and holding it up for Dean to smell while they lean in close. It is Dean accepting the offering with a smile and without resistance. 

Green is the easiest of cases. It is the dried herbs in a hex bag that’s poorly concealed. It is finishing a hunt early, while the morning is as soft and quiet as the moss. It’s leaning against the Impala and watching the forest breathe. It’s dappled sunlight shining through the spring leaves of trees. It is not thinking of the witch buried beneath six feet.

Green is how free Cas feels when Baby is going about a hundred and the windows are down. The wind never felt like this back when he flew places.

Cas telling Dean to keep driving West is all green words. Dean doesn’t stop until they hit the coast. Green is the colour of the ocean with the sky cloudy as it is. Cas waves excited arms, says,  _ look, Dean, _ without saying a thing.

The sea smells a little like mint, Dean decides, and mint smells just like  _ new _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on that [tumbz](https://fanforfanatic.tumblr.com/).


	5. BLUE: Magic/Art/Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue is the bleak lulls between good days.

Blue is the bleak lulls between good days. When Dean is drowning in the job and in misplaced guilt, blue are the cinderblocks shackled to his feet. Blue are the ghosts in Dean’s chest, stealing his every other breath. It’s a sick normal Dean shouldn’t be used to.

Blue is the silence they cannot find comfort in. The cold coffees spilled into sinks. The slices of pie that are left out too long, that have grown stale. Blue is the reminder that things don’t last as long as they should.

Blue is how Dean will glare at Cas in bed. How he’ll think the soft slack at his wrists is more than he deserves. He wants to have to strain against them, wants them cutting the flow of his veins. Wants them tight like his flannels feel at times. Constricting, shaming him for hoarding air he hasn't earned. But the way Cas glares back is indigo.

Blue is Dean finding solace in the hypoxia. It’s how he’ll let himself sink if it means escaping flames. A retreat into the blue appeal of stillness.

Cas will touch their lips together, swap his own inhale for Dean’s, extinguishing blues, exchanging others.

Then, the blue pause makes way for other colours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://fanforfanatic.tumblr.com/) :)


	6. PURPLE: Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purple is the satisfaction of a scratched itch.

Purple is the satisfaction of a scratched itch. It is the pleased sigh of fingers finding their place. It’s petal locks of hair and a steady pulse. It is a short breath laced with long emotion. Purple is speaking with palms. 

Purple is the promise of a punishing pace, later, when they fuck. It’s the damp spot on the pillow made by a puffy, swollen pout. Purple is the right angle. It is pressure building, a perfect peak and the sweetest push over it. It is a tidal wave and the astral plane. Purple is the beat of peace. The one only Cas has ever given Dean.

Purple is Dean peeling back layers of himself, showing Cas parts of him he’s kept hidden for far too long. It is Cas learning about time. About its passage. About how he won’t have enough of it, not with how much of Dean he wants to see. Purple are the moments he grasps tightly like tangible things, refusing to let them pass.

Purple is Dean’s plaid hanging loose on Cas’ frame. The pot of coffee split between their large cups. It is standing just in front of the bunker and pretending it is a porch. It’s the painless bubble they choose to share.

Purple is hopeful, and it is pooling out of the pink crack in Dean soul.

**Author's Note:**

> A thanks to the lovely people in the firechat (a place of pain and sin) who listened to me whine about this far too much.


End file.
